Water Down the Abyss
by akaisherry47
Summary: Water is believed to be the symbol of life, of compassion and of mercy. In a well that's supposed to be barren, a turncoat's morality is put to a test as she takes hold of her target's fate.


Disclaimer: I don't own Detective Conan, nor other copyrights mentioned in this fanwork. Any resemblance this story may have with actual events is coincidental unless duly stated.

Author's Notes: For those of you who are wondering about my sudden hiatus, I've been occupied the last couple of months, what with personal matters, other ventures and struggles with regards to my writing, mostly the lack of confidence. After some much needed shaping up, I officially mark my return to DC, with seldom-used characters no less. I'm only posting this prelude to try to test the waters once more, and I admit, I'm not so sure how to handle the characters who are going to appear in it, and some details might be inconsistent. As far as the infamous DC timeline's concerned, this happened between The Bloody Idol and Ding Dong Dash. Based on some old chapters, a number of Japanese shows/novels featuring a similar group and setting, and a slight touch of the west.

Of all DC characters, let alone Organization members who aren't traitors living next door to each other (for those who are looking for my stories about them, I have one or two on the way), Kir/Rena/Hidemi definitely ranks high on my list, and I've always wanted to take a shot at her since I branched out of the ship. In my opinion, she played a major role in Clash of Red and Black's success. Too bad she was practically thrown off the bus afterward, perhaps because the CIA's image in pop culture and the kind of character she's supposed to be doesn't mesh well with DC's generally-black and white world. I can go on and on about my disappointments over how she was mishandled all day, but I won't.

Written under Hidemi's perspective, the second time I've done this style here for any franchise.

* * *

Michiaki Hibiki, thirty-eight years of age and currently residing in Bunkyo, is your average Non-Official Cover. Salaryman at a telecommunications company by day, intelligence officer for our "organization" by night, monitoring our targets' movements through their phone records and conversations while paying close attention to any sensitive information we could use as leverage against others. He also covers the trail of some of our incautious clients and members too, splicing their calls and doctoring their messages so nobody would notice anything suspicious if ever the need to look into them arises. He was also taught the basics of creating fake voice calls when he was recruited. It's a very important job for us, and he's only one of about a dozen agent in that particular field..

Hibiki's held this post for almost ten years; used to be a wiretapper for top-rated fortune-telling sham that was eventually axed once their scheme was uncovered. It was impossible for him to fill another vacancy in show business with his unscrupulous background, and the despair of it was enough to get him to deluge himself with alcohol and baccarat. He was a total mess when one of our agents scouted him at a shoddy gambling hall in Shinjuku, played with him on the same table and got into a friendly drunken chatter no sooner than the next lousy hand. Upon learning of Hibiki's previous job, our guy decided he was worth a shot and brought him in on the notion that he'd have a brand new identity that cannot be traced back to his blemished past and a position at a reputable company.

Like everyone else who accepted a demon's bargain in exchange for their souls, Hibiki lived the best years of his life since then. He met his now-deceased wife in his third year at the telco and got married after a few months of courtship and dating, had his daughter Minako not long after the wedding, even earned a promotion in his fifth year for his excellent work ethic. Of course, the organization was responsible for the last one, a reward for providing up-to-date intel on targets that aided a number of persuasions and even a couple of successful hunts. For us and for the company we planted him in, Hibiki used to be an asset...

….Until his wife and daughter got hit by a truck on their way home from a supermarket two years ago. The wife died on the spot, while Minako was reduced to a vegetable. It was all over the news for a couple of days, a trigger for a bunch of other concerns about road safety and the usual propaganda, but quietly fell down the pecking order once the public accepted it was nothing but your average hit-and-run. Unable to cope with both the tragedy and the lack of resolution to his case, Hibiki plummeted into another downward spiral, turning back to his drinking and gambling roots. He ultimately fell on rough times financially, what with his vices, the medical fees and the life support system for Minako, and at least once a month someone from the bank, the tax office or the local "lending firm" would come by to squeeze him of whatever penny he had. The job he held onto for nearly a decade began to slip away from him too no thanks to his declining aptitude, often coming in late and with a hangover to boot. Lucky for him we paid big, otherwise he wouldn't have lasted through the ordeal. But even for us he was quickly becoming a liability, and we would've dealt with him if he wasn't practically letting himself rot already – he even tried to commit suicide once according to the files.

In retrospect, we should've done just that...

Over a month ago the FBI, who has already established a bastion in this country, came into contact with Hibiki, offering him a fresh start under the WPP and medical support for Minako in exchange for information about the person who recruited and handled him, the operations he abetted and the members he cleaned after, codename or otherwise. After days of thorough intervention, Hibiki caved, realizing the error of his ways and finding the will to hold on to life and the hope that Minako would regain consciousness one day. The feds are presently ironing things out so Minako could be transferred to a top-notch medical facility immediately, but judging from the debts he racked up, it will probably take a day or two...

...It goes without saying that Hibiki has to die tonight.

"...Rena-chan? Rena-chan? Are you still there?" Yoko Okino's voice resounded through my right ear, reminding me that I'm still in the middle of a phone call with her. That I'm still Nichiuri TV's Rena Mizunashi.

"Yes, yes. Something just caught my eye is all," I said, as apologetic as I could. "Thought I'd finally get the chance to interview one of the Lower House members, but alas, they're all too busy getting into the after-party."

"Are you still at the fund raiser?"

"No, we wrapped up about twenty minutes ago. I'm on my way home." For the most part, this was true. Earlier, I was covering the annual Domon War and Calamity Relief Gala held at a premier hotel in Minato, keeping a close eye on its host Yasuteru Domon, who I've been keeping tabs on for sometime now as per the organization's orders. Halfway through the gala I received another directive, one that brought me to this godforsaken warehouse warehouse, just a few blocks away from the hotel. There was no way I could've left the party without drawing attention, so I instigated a technical glitch after recording enough material for tomorrow's feature to force our crew to pack up. Since tomorrow's Saturday and I have Morning Live 7, I had the best excuse not to go back to the station with them for editing. Not like the media could stay for the after-party anyway, which should be underway by now. "How about you? Still gonna film after this, hm?"

"The director's still reviewing the footage to see if we have to re-take some scenes, but we're probably going to get back to it soon."

"Hmm? Yoko Okino has do a re-take? That's new..."

"Well, I don't feel like I've grasped my role completely yet, so my expressions probably don't look right. But Takei-san was really awesome!"

"Oh really? No wonder she's getting lead offers here and there even if she hasn't been around very long." I've met a lot of celebrities as a reporter and TV personality, had witnessed just how pitiful it is to see a lot of them so drunk on their fame, and how some were miraculously able to remain true to themselves anyway. Yoko's one of those who remain humble and down-to-earth. What you see on TV is what you get in real life when it comes to her. Top it off with enough talent and it shouldn't be that hard to figure out why she currently enjoys her "top idol" status, and I'm one of the lucky people she considers a close friend both in and out of the industry, even though we haven't known each other for long.

"By the way, you haven't told me what kind of present you want for your birthday tomorrow," Yoko reminded. "I already mailed you about it at least twice today."

"Didn't I tell you not get me one? I mean, you already invited over a dozen A-listers to my party tomorrow, to think I'm still a long way off on even being considered as an anchor. Plus, I know you're schedule's loaded," I reasoned. Tempted as I was to add that tomorrow really wasn't my birthday, I held off. It's Rena Mizunashi's birthday tomorrow alright, and I've celebrated on the same date for years now. But it's not my real birthday... As if I can still call the correct date as such. Oh, how I miss those years when we'd just celebrate at a restaurant in Osaka, myself, my father and my brother, grilling yakiniku on our table and enjoying it with fried rice, but those memories are far beyond me now...

As I expected, Yoko wasn't pleased with my answer. "Don't you pull that kind of attitude on me now, Mizunashi-san!" she scolded waggishly. "Its okay. Just tell me what you want and I'll try to give it to you before your gifts and fan letters pour in tomorrow. I mean, it is the first gift I'm going to get you and all. Oh, and I didn't invite over a dozen A-listers. Over a dozen A-listers said they wanted to meet you in person, and I thought your party would be a great opportunity for it."

"...Fine, fine. You win," I sighed. There's nothing I could do to sway her from the idea when she's being this insistent... Then again, maybe I could discourage her a bit. "Hmm... How about something homemade?"

"Homemade?" Yoko seemed to ponder about it for a bit. "Okay, homemade it is!"

"I'll be expecting to get something really good then, Yoko-chan," I said encouragingly in response to her confidence.

"Mm. You can count on me!"

But... Could she really pull it off? A lot of actors have already forgotten what home is, always working on the road, if not relocating when the neighbors become a bother or when a better investment turns up, and even then they barely get to live in it. Yoko for one had recently moved in to a new apartment after her high-school sweetheart committed suicide on her old unit, but the last time she gave me a tour, there were enough taped up boxes to imply that there won't be a housewarming party anytime soon. "Anyway, the director's calling everyone now so... Talk to you later, okay? I want to be the first to greet you."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure to save that honor for you." I waited for Yoko to hang up first, letting the bittersweet melody of disconnection linger on my ear until it ended, letting me know it was time to stash the device into my glove box like a mask that has already served its purpose.

Sometimes, I wish I could be more honest with Yoko... But that's impossible for me. Just like actors and the concept of home, I'd forgotten how to be honest to anyone, much less to myself. It started to slip away from me when I enlisted for the company, and was completely lost when they initiated me to the organization. Makes me wonder if there's really any difference between the two. Even their tactics have a very strong resemblance with each other in terms of stealth, precision as well as ruthlessness and devotion to the cause. Must be the reason I was able to blend in so easily once I've earned their benefit of doubt.

I took a deep breath, flushing away any unnecessary musings about my job and Yoko, calling Hibiki's seamed face to mind instead. It's the only thing I need to focus on at the moment. Just in time, a stocky figure emerged from the delivery van that pulled up front of me while I was in the middle of the call. It's what caught my eye a moment ago.

"Must be nice to have a superstar on your speed dial."

"Well, leeching off on miss popular does have its perks," I remarked, dedicating my full attention towards the person who just joined me. "How about you? It's strange not to see you as someone else's shadow, Vodka."

"Aniki's having his downtime right now, but he sends his regards just the same," he answered. "I hope I'm good enough for you though."

"I was expecting to ride in style like the people I'm going to party with tomorrow...," I feigned disappointment. "Ah well... I suppose you'll have to do."

"Sounds like your vanity switch has finally been flipped, eh?" Vodka chortled. "No wonder Vermouth has it in for you. She probably thinks you're trying to take her place, especially in 'that person's' eyes."

Vermouth. One of the organization's elite. I scarcely ever encounter her, but the times I did I could sense those icy eyes of hers boring holes through my chest, and each time she had this wicked smile across her lips, like she had already seen through my soul and was pleased with what was in there, well aware that she could use it to her advantage down the line.

"The queen bee always has it in for every woman who is a threat to usurp her, and that means every woman in existence," I responded, reminding myself to stay as far away from her as I could if I want to stay alive longer. "So... Are you gonna keep wooing me or are we finally getting down to this Hibiki business? I need to catch some shuteye before my next shift. Make-up doesn't always hide the bags well, you know."

"Alright then." I looked on as Vodka recouped from the odious humor we shared, relieved that he's still as credulous as I thought he was back when I first met him. "You'll have your work cut out with him tonight. A classic snatch-and-dash with a twist, to be specific," he began.

"Twist?"

"You'll have to break into his house under a disguise."

"Sounds interesting, but isn't cosplay more in Vermouth's alley than mine?"

"Yeah, but 'that person' wants you to do it for a change. Besides, that woman's nowhere to be found as we speak. You know how she is..."

"Always going out on her limb, leaving us to pick up after her," I sighed. "Fine, I'll bite."

"Ever heard about this bloodthirsty thief wearing an auburn jacket from your reporter buddies?"

"Yes. A serial robber-slash-killer who has a penchant for priceless possessions from heirlooms and family photos to children's toys and underwear, and stabs anyone who catches him in the act several times on the abdomen before leaving, essentially gutting them," I narrated. "So far he's left three dead bodies in his wake, all gutted out. And if my memory serves me right, his last victim lived near Hibiki's most recent address." While I'm currently not tasked to handle crime stories and such, I made it a point to keep myself updated with current events as any diligent reporter would, and from all the material the station has accumulated about this case, consisting of official releases, insider information and even photographs submitted by onlookers, apparently taken before the police could cordon the scene off, I felt confident in my ability to impersonate this fugitive. Spilling so much blood though... "Must be the compulsive type judging from his MO. The cops have a load of trouble catching the sort."

"Could be. Doesn't matter anymore though since we already did those idiots a favor. His knife, jacket and shoes are all that's left of him now. Plenty enough for forensics to confirm what we want 'em to. As for eye-witnesses, his neighborhood isn't exactly Beika so you probably wouldn't have to worry about it.

"Once you've cleaned the house out, you'll have to wait for him, let him walk in on you on purpose," Vodka continued, "You have two options then depending on how he reacts. If he puts up a fight, feel free to run wild..."

His voice trailed off, seemingly anticipating my sweet approval...

...But I refused to indulge him this time. "And what of plan B?" I asked, trying to affect interest in lieu of preference.

"This is already plan B," Vodka said, pulling the van's door open to reveal a black bag. I didn't have to look at the pair of protrusions on the end adjacent to us to know what's inside. "That was plan A." He pointed to it, suggesting I check it out anyway.

Composing myself so I wouldn't vomit the morsel I had at the gala, I went along and hopped in, scrabbled for the zip and peeled it to find a woman, approximately in her late twenties to early thirties and wearing a common office blouse based from what I could gather under so limited light, the contorted look of both surprise and pain she made during her final moments immortalized on her oval, somewhat chiseled face. "How did she do?" I looked curiously at Vodka while zipping up the bag. No matter how many times I've seen one, I could never get used to staring at corpses for a prolonged period, especially if I'm not innocent of the hows and whys of their death.

"Was supposed to nab 'im in the subway crowd earlier today, but chickened out at the last minute," he explained. "You know how we like our chickens."

"Grilled down to the bone... I guess you could call this convenience store chicken. Always leaving something to be desired," I quipped.

"But they're cheap, that's why we keep buyin' 'em."

I grunted. "Now, about my alternative..."

"Still interested huh? Was thinking you're already good with what's already on the table."

Vodka's remark was charged with an excess of sick humor and esteem, intent on flattering me. Obviously, he was talking about the night of my initiation. He had no idea how much I regret what happened then. I could feel my instincts seethe, wanting to end him here and now for insulting me the way he did. Without Gin watching his back, he's nothing I can't possibly handle.

But all I could do was look delirious, as if gratified by his compliment. I've lost far too much to get to this point, and my father would be very disappointed if I put it all in vain for something so petty.

"Well, if you don't feel like making a mess tonight, you could try to get Hibiki to take care of himself," he continued. "Tell him how miserable he's gonna be for the rest of his life once he crosses us, even worse for his kid whether she wakes up or not, unless he does this final job for us. Shouldn't be too hard since he already tried hanging himself the day he learned his daughter's not gonna wake up. Noone would suspect a thing if he gave it another shot and got nailed in this time around."

Of course. Coerce Hibiki to commit suicide out of despair. With his shaky track record and a previous suicide attempt, nobody would find it odd if he was found hanging from his ceiling next morning. Although it would make my disguise pointless, this should be relatively easier for me than plan B thanks to my psychological training, not to mention a lot more subtle.

However, there was a catch. There's always a catch when it comes to the easier choice. For all the good it did, at least Vodka mentioned it before I could give an answer.

"But you have to do the daughter in too."

I immediately understood their logic behind this second death. It's important to make the scenario more believable to the public and the authorities, and to send a stronger message to our real enemy. Given the situation, the company would consider the same thing. My father taught me to be brave when faced with such difficulty, and to always do what I have to not only for the sake of the mission, but more importantly, to survive...

"...Alright. Now if you don't mind, I have to change," I said, holding my enthusiasm for as long as I could while I pulled the van door close. I caught a glimpse of Vodka grinning as I did. Whether he was tantalized by the idea of me stripping or poking fun at the idea of me stripping before a dead body, a woman's no less, I wouldn't know. I really don't care either.

Once certain of my safety inside the cramped compartment, I cradled my body as it shivered upon the horror I'm about to unleash tonight by picking either one of the choices. Upon the way I was acting until now, taking pleasure over how I massacred my own father, mocking the one friendship I truly cherish in this lie, making fun of the death of another misguided soul. Compared to these, sitting beside an occupied bodybag meant nil. Compared to my father, my strength's nothing but a facade. He might not be able to make an immediate decision like me, but he certainly wouldn't fret so badly in its midst.

When I get over this moment of uncertainty though, I know Kir will be more than ready to impress the organization once again. If only deciding, as well as dealing with my conscience afterward were just as simple...

* * *

Chapter End.


End file.
